Quidditch
by Alohaemora
Summary: Because sneaking out, stealing one's brother's broom from the broom shed, and playing Quidditch in the dead of the night seems to run in the family.


15 July 2011

Four-year-old Albus was seated at the edge of the Burrow's overgrown front yard, hugging his knees to his chest and staring, open-mouthed, up at the sky. He watched in admiration as his mother rocketed through the air, Dominique and James following close behind. The balmy July heat settled around them in a haze, and Albus had to squint slightly to see his family members' soaring figures clearly across the brilliant, blue sky.

Not for the first time did the familiar feeling of envy wash over Albus, as his brother surged past him, leaving Albus's clothes fluttering slightly. Little Albus bit his lip as his mother called suddenly to her elder son and niece, prompting all three to dive spectacularly back to the ground, landing smoothly upon the lawn, hair windswept and faces flushed with satisfaction. His brows furrowed slightly as his mother flung one arm around both James and Dominique, leading them in the direction of the Burrow's back door.

"Come on, Albus, sweetheart," she called to him, as they neared his position beside the door. She smiled warmly at him, beckoning him over.

But Albus didn't budge. He merely gazed reproachfully at his mother, sticking out his lower lip, trying to make himself out to be as pitiful as he could. It seemed to work, for, the next moment, she pointed Dominique and James towards the Burrow, and started off in his direction, frowning slightly.

"Albus?" she asked gently, dropping to her knees beside him. "Albus, what's wrong?"

Albus's lip quivered for a moment, and, then, without warning, he burst into tears.

Ginny Potter looked taken aback. She gaped at her son momentarily before pulling him into a tight hug, letting his tears splatter over her sweater. "_Albus_! Albus—oh, what's wrong, sweetheart? Why are you crying?"

Albus sniffled slightly, wrapping his arms around his mother's neck and permitting her to lift him up. "Mumma—I—I wan'na play Quidditch, too!"

There was a tense silence as Ginny considered this. Then, she grimaced, adjusting her grip on her son, and began trudging in the direction of the Burrow. It wasn't that she didn't want her younger son to learn Quidditch…she _did_, of course she did. But Albus was far more delicate than James had been at his age, and, on top of that, seemed to have a knack for getting himself hurt. Putting him on a broom didn't seem like the brightest idea, at the moment.

"Al…" Ginny hesitated, worrying her lip between her teeth. "Al, Daddy and I told you we'd teach you once you turned five, didn't we?"

"But, iss'not fair!" Albus whined. "You taught James when he was four! I'm four!"

"Next year, all right, sweetheart?" Ginny said firmly. "Next year we'll definitely teach you. For now, why don't you get your toy broomstick, and Mummy will watch you fly."

Albus faltered fleetingly in his complaints. The prospect of flying on his toy broomstick, even if it did rise only a foot above the ground, seemed very tempting indeed, especially if his mother was going to watch him. But—no, he would stay strong in his argument.

"No," Albus shook his head emphatically. "I wan'na fly a real broomstick!"

Ginny simply sighed, plunking Albus down back onto the ground as they entered the Burrow, and closed the door behind her. "Next year, Albus."

And, with that, she went to join her mother in the kitchen, leaving a very disappointed Albus standing alone by the door.

* * *

><p>The hushed silence of a warm, July night hung rather densely in the air, and the glistening moonlight from outside the large window gave off just enough light to see the two large camp beds in the center of the room. The owner of one of the camp beds was sleeping soundly, untidy black hair fanned haphazardly out upon his pillow and mouth slightly open. The owner of the second camp bed—also with untidy black hair—however, was clearly awake, and he tossed and turned in his sleep.<p>

Abruptly, and without any preamble, he sat bolt right up in bed. Very slowly, and very carefully, he slipped out of his tangled sheets. Casting a cautious look at his brother, who was still sleeping peacefully in the first camp bed, he padded soundlessly across the room. The door creaked open just enough for his small frame to slip out of it, and then, it closed with an unfortunately resounding _click_.

Several floors below, in Burrow's living room, a woman awoke with a start. Rubbing her eyes tiredly and brushing her long, red hair out of her face, she glanced around the room curiously, wondering what could have possibly awoken her. With a jolt, she realized that she was still seated at the desk in the corner, as she had been since after dinner, working furiously away at her next addition to the Daily Prophet's sport's section.

Suddenly, she stiffened, casting a wary look in the direction of the nearby stairwell. The distinct thumping of footsteps was echoing down the stairs. She stayed completely still, gazing towards the staircase. And, as a very familiar four-year-old boy stumbled down the last few steps, Ginny had to refrain from calling his name.

Albus, meanwhile, sauntered placidly through the living room and kitchen, completely oblivious to the fact that his mother was watching his every move. Clutching at the brass doorknob, he jerked the back door open, and stepped outside, exhaling softly as the warm air hit his face.

Then, he set off in the direction of the broom shed.

Ginny waited until her son's footsteps had faded completely away before she quickly followed, exiting the back door, and shutting it silently behind her. She gasped loudly, as something scurried rapidly past her, leaving her completely out of breath. Hurrying forward, Ginny's eyes widened as Albus scampered out to the middle of the Burrow's overgrown field, clutching James's broomstick securely in his right hand.

And, before she could even comprehend what was happening, Albus had flung his right leg over the broom, and kicked into the air.

Ginny clapped a hand to her mouth, as Albus rose into the hair. What was he doing? He had never even flown before!

But, she needn't have worried.

He was a natural.

Quick and agile, swift and nimble. Ginny simply stared, awestruck, as Albus soared and dived with an agility that was completely astonishing for his lack of experience.

A ghost of a memory seemed to flicker in Ginny's head. And the image of her slender, six-year-old, redheaded self flying over that very field, in the dead of the night, flashed before her eyes. Her lips twitched upwards, and she grinned up at her son's soaring figure, filled with a sudden rush of affection towards him.

A shriek pierced the air, and Ginny gaze snapped up. Eyes widening in alarm, Ginny rushed onto the grass as her son shrieked again, now dangling dangerously from his broom.

"Albus!"

"Mumma!" he cried, terrified. "Mumma, help!"

"Albus," Ginny fought to keep her voice calm, for his sake. "Albus, jump."

"No!" His shrieks increased in volume. "Iss'too far!"

"Albus, sweetheart," Ginny pleaded, throat constricting. "You have to jump. Don't worry, Mummy will catch you."

"But—"

"Albus, jump!"

There was a final, ear-splitting screech as Albus tumbled off of his broom, arms flailing. But, the next instant, he was in his mother's arms, trembling from head-to-toe.

"It's alright, now," Ginny murmured, gently patting her son's back. "You're alright, sweetheart, don't worry…"

There was a minute's silence, during which Albus's whimpers slowly died down and his shallow breathing became deeper and louder.

Then—"Mumma, I'm sorry I went out without telling you."

Ginny turned her face away to hide the meaningful smile on her face. "It's alright, Albus," she said, as sternly as she could muster. "But, tomorrow, how about we fly together? And I'll teach you not to fall."

"C'n I ride on James's broom again?" Albus questioned eagerly.

"Of course you can," Ginny smiled. "You can even try Mummy's Firebolt, if you want."

And, laughing at the delighted expression on Albus's face, Ginny made her way back into the house, Albus still snug in her arms. As the door snapped closed behind them, James's broom—which had been suspended in midair for the past several minutes—fell to the ground, where it would be retrieved only in the morning by an eager four-year-old and his mother.

* * *

><p>This is my entry for My Dear Professor McGonagall's "Mother and Child" Competition, starring Ginny and Albus Potter. My prompt was Quidditch. :)<p> 


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